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The Real Housewives Of New York: The Bitches Of Eastwick

Remember when John Updike died? That was sad. He was such a good writer. But I like to think that in some small way, using the title of one of his famous novels of mid-century malaise as a throwaway pun-based joke about a mindlessly dull reality show about melting nightmares is the MOST fitting tribute to his memory. No? JK, Rabbit, JK.

But seriously, the women on this show are a bunch of bitches. Duh Town, Population: That Comment. But seriously. I know it’s the third episode of the second season and there are no more surprises, but there was something about this episode in particular that made me really wish it was 2012 already and the great Mayan Apocalypse would bury East Hampton under 4 miles of tidewater. Or whatever. I am not an End of Daysologist.

The Cuntess’s maid comes back from the Philippines, and she says that it’s not a moment too soon because she can’t do laundry? Laundry is the single easiest chore. You put clothes in a machine, and when the machine is done doing your job for you it makes a noise, and you take the clothes out of the machine. You should never tell people that you don’t know how to do laundry. Although, you should never tell people any of the things that the Cuntess is always telling people. She’s like a high-output Stupid Factory. Just cranking out the stupid, night and day. Overtime.

At lunch, The Cuntess tells Ramona that she is sending her daughter to boarding school, and Ramona suffers a breakdown in social graces that is almost as intense as the breakdown in the silicone holding her melty face together.

Careful, guys. Might as well take the dick out of your mouth now, because Ramona’s on the way down to your work, and she’s going to just slap it out anyway. Jesus. Who does this woman think she is? You contribute to two articles to Cosmo magazine in the early-to-mid-90s and all of a sudden (all of a 15 years later) you can shit all over people’s parenting? “I had my daughter because I want to live vicariously through her so that I continue to feel young despite the fact that my body is slowly rendering itself back into the factory-made plastic that sustains it. Just like Dorian Gray with his magic portrait, I could never send her away.”

Meanwhile, Simon and Alex go to the world’s saddest spa. It’s in someone’s house. “Spa” seems like it’s stretching it. Simon and Alex go to the world’s saddest house. Better.

No, Simon, just because you’ve had “loads and loads and loads” (no kidding!) of spa treatments doesn’t mean you are gay. I mean, you are gay, but it’s not the “loads and loads and loads” of spa treatments that make you gay. But you are gay. And a FUCKING CREEP. Do you feel the heat, Simon? It’s hot barf spilling all over your scraggly Gollum body. Do you feel the heat, my Precious?

He’s like a gay prostitute that Alex hired to be her “husband” for the show.

Not that SkullFace Magoo is any better. She is just as creepy.

[Rubbing hands together] “I just hope it doesn’t involve anyone dying, because it would be a shame for a human body to be involved in a satanic ritual in my basement where I cast spells upon my enemies to make them forget that I am a man.”

Just two nightmares out relaxing in the Hamptons at a haunted spa house.

The new girl, Kelly, spends the whole show riding horses. Snore. But this is funny:

Smart horse! Someone give that horse a job in a think tank. He knows.

Whoops, New York, that’s your governor.

To be fair, he is blind. He ain’t know!

Man, I cannot wait until 30 years from now when there is a show called Grey Gardens 2.0 and it is all of these women living in a ramshackle house together, sleeping in beds filled with garbage, sputtering nonsense, and waiting to die.